Addicted to Beauty
by Epiphany Aria Grace
Summary: This is for the Anonymous person on Newsies Winter Wishes who requested something about Race's addictions. Some people, me and Racetrack included, use certain methods or coping mechanisms to distract themselves from their dark minds. Those coping mechanisms can be addicting. "That's the danger of addictions. They feel so good that you never want to quit, even if you know how."
1. Chapter 1- Carry Your Rocks

**This is going to be a two-shot as of right now- I may add to it later if inspiration hits though. This is dedicated to the anonymous person who made a request on the Tumblr blog Newsies Winter Wishes for something about Race's addictions. Here it is, and I hope you like it. I loved writing it, even if you don't like it, so thank you for the inspiration!**

 **Some people, me and Racetrack included, use certain methods or coping mechanisms to distract themselves from their dark minds, aka escapism. That can be pretty extreme (alcoholism, careless sex, drugs, etc.) or not so extreme (staying up watching videos on your phone because you're too afraid to be alone with yourself). But the point is, those people usually also have addictive tendencies. They get addicted to things, usually unhealthy, as ways to cope. This can mean addiction, eating disorders, self injury, doing things for attention, or any other manner of things. My idea of Racetrack and his addictions (alcohol, smoking, gambling, etc.) is built around that theory about people. My headcanons are that Racetrack has anxiety and maybe depression. So here are some one-shots about Racetrack's coping mechanisms and his friends confronting him in various situations. Warning: It'll be fairly dark, especially the last chapter. I'll put trigger warnings before each chapter. These won't be happy stories, so please be prepared for depressing.**

 **Title comes from my poem, "I wonder." I own it. Don't go stealing.**

 **Excerpt;**

" _And I wonder_

 _If the only thing you know for sure about the sentence_

 _"beauty comes from pain"_

 _Is that it's the same thing as_

 _"pain comes from beauty."_

 _And that you're addicted to beauty."_

* * *

 **Part One- Carry Your Rocks**

 **Trigger warning: hints at anxiety. That's pretty much it here. This is is in the canon timeframe.**

"Why do you'se smoke so much?"

They were sitting at a table at Tibby's, more people crowded onto the bench to watch the poker game then should have fit. Racetrack was tired, and Crutchy had caught him off guard, which is probably the reason he gave an actually honest answer.

"Dunno. It calms me down when I'm nervous or somethin'."

"You must be nervous a lot then…"

"Must be." He agreed.

Crutchy was silent for a while, studying Racetrack's face. Race was looking at his cards and refusing to let any emotion show on his face.

"I didn't know." Crutchy finally spoke.

"Huh?"

Racetrack looked up.

"I dunno. You jus' always seem so confident and happy."

"So?"

"But you're not, are you?"

Racetrack looked back at the table, avoiding Crutchy's gaze as he took another puff on the cigar that had started this conversation.

"I'm gonna go outside. Tibby looks like he's about ta come tell me off fer smokin'. Maybe he'll start tryin' ta assess me mental health too." he chuckled dryly.

"I'll come with you. Um, if that's okay?"

"Sure, whatever."

They stood leaning against the wall of the restaurant for a while, before Crutchy spoke up.

"Can… can I ask you'se a question? Or is ya mad at me for pryin'?"

"I'm not mad at ya, kid. I don't think I even possess that power."

Crutchy smiled a bit.

"Are you happy?"

"I'm an orphan who's forced to break me back daily just so that I can eat at least once a day. I don't know any Newsies who are completely happy."

Crutchy didn't answer, once again taking to studying the older boy's face.

"But, besides that?"

Race sighed.

"I dunno know what you want from me, Crutch."

"I just want to know what's wrong. You're my friend, and no one should have to hold all their troubles inside. I used ta try, but somethin' I learned is that it's a lot easier when you let someone else help you carry your rocks."

"Rocks?"

"It's what I'se call troubles, sometimes. Things that weigh ya down."

Race gazed out into the street, with the look of someone who wasn't seeing what they were looking at, but something far away.

After several long minutes, Racetrack spoke. But his voice sounded a lot different than it had before- he sounded unguarded, vulnerable, and a little bit scared. His face looked just the tiniest bit sad, or wistful.

"Why- why do ya even care?" he questioned softly.

"Because you'se me friend."

Racetrack closed his eyes. He seemed tired, for once actually looking his age.

"I'm just not used it, is all. Having someone care."

Crutchy looked a little bit shocked, both at what Racetrack had admitted, and the fact that he'd admitted it.

"Oh… But Race, you know-"

"Nevermind, Crutch. I don't wanna talk no more."

"But-"

"No."

His guard was back up. Maybe it had been the pity in Crutchy's voice that had woken him up, made him realize what he was doing. Maybe he'd simply decided that that was as much as he was willing to share. Either way, he didn't seem like he'd change his mind and let Crutchy in again, not tonight at least.

"Jus' remember what I'se said 'bout holding things in. And that I'll always talk to you'se if you'se need. I really do care about you, Race. I mean it."

"Yeah. Sure."

"I- I guess we'se should head back inside." Crutchy sounded sad.

"I guess." Racetrack had taken to staring far-away again.

"You coming?"

"Sure, sure. In a few. You go on though."

"Oh. Ok."

Crutchy had just reached the door when Race called out.

"Heya- Crutchy?"

"Yeah?"

"I started just because, but it was when I realized that I'm not as anxious when I smoke that I got addicted. If you think about it, most addictions are just ways to distract yourself from pain. And I'm kinda an expert on addictions, so take it from me. So that's why I smoke, I guess."

"Oh… I- well, thanks for telling me Racetrack. I-"

"Yeah."

Crutchy sighed, but turned and went back into the warm diner, where the air was filled with laughter, shouting, and silly quarreling. Where nobody else knew how broken their gambling, Italian joker really was.

Racetrack came in around half an hour later, ordered a beer, and sat down at the overstuffed table to watch the finish of a new poker game. He laughed and joked just as much as always. It was just as convincing as always, too, except to Crutchy, who felt sad knowing that it was all an act. An elaborate mask that Racetrack refused to let anyone see past.


	2. Chapter 2- Monster

**Part Two- Monster**

 **Modern AU. Trigger warning: drugs, addiction, slash (nothing sexual, just a gay relationship), language, talk about suicide, dark themes. This is way darker than the first chapter.** **Please skip if it might trigger you.**

" _ **Ever since I could remember  
**_ _ **Everything inside of me  
**_ _ **Just wanted to fit in (Oh oh oh oh)  
**_ _ **I was never one for pretenders  
**_ _ **Everything I tried to be  
**_ _ **Just wouldn't settle in (Oh oh oh oh)  
**_ _ **If I told you what I was  
**_ _ **Would you turn your back on me?  
**_ _ **And if I seem dangerous  
**_ _ **Would you be scared?  
**_ _ **I get the feeling just because  
**_ _ **Everything I touch isn't dark enough  
**_ _ **If this problem lies in me  
**_ _ **I'm only a man with a candle to guide me  
**_ _ **I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me  
**_ _ **A monster, a monster  
**_ _ **I've turned into a monster  
**_ _ **A monster, a monster  
**_ _ **And it keeps getting stronge**_ _ **r." -Imagine Dragons**_

* * *

"Hello?" Spot was not really in the mood to talk, so he hoped this phone call would not take long.

"Sp-spot?" Racetracks voice was shaky.

"Yeah."

"I-I-"

"What's wrong?"

"I dunno. I feel sick. And I can't walk. Everyone left and I'm stuck here, I'm kinda freaking out, Spot, I can't think clearly…"

"Where are you? Who were you with?"

"I'm in this-this old warehouse thing. Some- friends. Kind of. Oh god…" Spot heard a gagging noise.

"Hold on. You're drunk, aren't you?"

"I don't know. Probably."

"What's going on? Please don't tell me you're doing drugs."

Race didn't answer, confirming what Spot had feared.

"Racetrack!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry Spot. Please don't freak out. Please, really I need help right now… I'm really sorry…"

He sounded close to tears, and afraid that Spot would hang up at any moment, leaving him like most everyone else in his life had.

Spot sighed.

"We'll talk about this more later. What happened?"

"I- I made someone mad. He was a lot bigger than me, and he sort of- hurt me. A little. But I'll be okay. I just need you to come get me."

"Ok. Ok, do you know the address or anything?"

"Yeah. It's close to my work. Further down the street, where a lot of the buildings are empty. It's got this dirty green sign that says something about a clothing warehouse."

"Ok. I'll be there as soon as I can."

They were silent for several minutes as Spot threw on shoes and hurried to start his car.

"Spot?"

Racetrack asked timidly.

"What?"

"Are you going to break up with me?"

His voice sounded so pitiful and broken, full of sadness and fearful expectancy. Spot could imagine him with the look on his face that people make when they think someone's about to hit them.

" _What_?! No! Why would you ask that?"

"I just thought- I dunno- that maybe you're really mad at me now and you don't want to date someone as fucked up as me…"

"Racetrack… I'm not planning to leave you anytime soon. I'm not going to pretend that I'm not disappointed in you, but you've had to deal with a lot of pain in your life. You need help, and yeah, so you turned to some really unhealthy mechanisms in an attempt to get help, but that's okay. I'm gonna help you get better. We'll be okay."

"Are you sure- I mean- you don't hate me?"

"Never. I could never hate you."

Racetrack didn't answer. After a while, Spot was driving on the street racetrack had mentioned and saw an old, closed up building with a faded green sign.

"Ok, I think I'm here. Where are you in the building?"

"O-ok."

Racetrack's voice sounded choked, like he'd been crying.

"I'm upstairs."

"K. I'm gonna hang up. I'll see you in a minute."

"Okay."

Spot parked his car on the side of the road and hurried to find a way in. There was a side door in the alley with a broken lock. Spot headed inside. He found a staircase pretty quickly and headed up.

"Racetrack!" he shouted.

"Here." he heard a muffled yell. He entered the room he heard the noise from, but at first it seemed empty. Until Race called out again.

"Over here, Spot."

There was an almost undetectable closet that Spot could now see a shadowed figure crouched in.

"Why are you in the closet?"

"Why do you think everyone left? Police. They ditched me, but I know my way around this place, and I managed to crawl up here and hide. I wasn't found. Obviously."

"Police?! Racetrack, what am I going to do with you?"

"How about, get me out of here and take me home so I can sleep for a week?"

Spot chuckled.

He came closer to Race and turned on the flashlight app on his phone so he could see better.

"Wow. Racetrack, I admit, it's near impossible to make you look like shit, but I think you met your match."

Racetrack was leaning against the wall. He was pale, there were dark purple circles under his eyes, and he was covered in sweat and some blood and bruises as well. There was vomit on the floor next to him (and some on his clothes too) and he was shaking. He looked like he'd been beat up, and like he hadn't eaten or slept in days- all of which had the possibility of being true.

"Was that a compliment or an insult?"

Spot forced a smirk to hide his shock at seeing his boyfriend like this.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Spot knelt down next to Racetrack.

"You look slightly more than 'a little hurt'. Can you move?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Probably can't walk too well though."

"That's okay."

Spot put his hands under Racetrack's arms and pulled him up as gently as possible. He pulled Race's arm over his shoulder and Race leaned most of his weight on Spot as they slowly walked downstairs and to Spot's car.

They drove in silence for most of the way. Race was looking sicker and sicker by the minute.

Finally, he covered his mouth with his hands and bent over.

"Spot…" he muttered.

"No puking in my car!"

"I can't-"

"Just hold on, I'll pull over."

Spot did, and Race stumbled out of the car and to the side of the road, where he practically collapsed and started vomiting into the grass. Nothing came up but a bit of liquid, but he didn't stop for several minutes. When he finally did, Spot helped him back up and into the car. His eyes were wet, whether from watering or tears, Spot couldn't tell.

"I really hate myself right now."

"I'm not going to argue. You haven't made smart choices."

Race looked down at his hands in his lap and said nothing. Spot wasn't sure what to do.

"Sorry. I wasn't trying to be mean."

"No-no- it's ok. Not your fault. I really do deserve this."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

Spot hated that he had no answer.

"Exactly. It's my fault I got beat up, it's my fault I got myself addicted, and it's my fault that I felt like I needed that in the first place."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I dunno. I mean, I made an active choice to start drinking and doing drugs. I decided that I needed a convenient escape from my pain, and I was too much of a coward to kill myself, so this is what I did instead. My entire life, I've been living on this path of self-destruction. I don't know why. I don't know why I'm always nervous and paranoid, or why I almost committed suicide in high school, or why I sometimes have weeks on end when I can't feel anything but emptiness and tiredness. But I know why I had to call you in the middle of the night so you could come drag my ass out of an empty warehouse and take care of a puking, hurt, crossfaded failure of a boyfriend."

They had reached Spot's apartment, and were sitting in his driveway.

"I don't think it was cowardice not to kill yourself- seems pretty brave to me, to choose not to give up on living even though your life is shit."

"Yeah. Because I'm clearly being so brave and noble, vomiting and crying in a closet at two a.m."

"Don't be like that. You're braver than you think. And also, you're not a failure of a boyfriend. You're the best friend and boyfriend I've ever had."

"Don't be a fucking liar, Conlon. It's not attractive."

Racetrack seemed to be getting angry, so Spot didn't answer, getting out of the car instead and walking around to help Race, who pushed him away.

"I'm fine. I can walk."

He tried to do so, too, but only made it about 10 feet before almost falling over. Spot caught him however, and Race consented to put his arm back over his boyfriend's shoulder.

But instead of just letting Race lean on him, Spot put his other arm under Race's legs and picked him up, bridal style.

"Hey! Put me down."

"Nah."

"Asshole."

Spot chuckled as Racetrack pulled a key out of Spot's shirt pocket, where he knew Spot kept it, and opened the door for Spot, as his hands were obviously full.

"Aw, this is romantic, isn't it? Like we're getting married or something."

Race grinned as Spot tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks.

"Yeah, you're right, you _would_ be the girl. You even like to cook, and dance- say, is there something you aren't telling me?"

It was Race's turn to blush now, but he also grinned, giving a ridiculously dramatic suggestive wink.

"Don't you think you'd have noticed that by now?" he waggled his eyebrows. Spot laughed.

"You have a point."

Spot walked to his bedroom, not bothering to turn any lights on the way, and set Race down on his bed.

"Well, cleaning you up is going to be fun."

"Just strip me and put me in the shower. Easy as pie, and I'm sure you won't mind the view."

He winked again and Spot rolled his eyes.

"You're in a good mood."

"You have that effect on me."

"How adorable."

"I am, aren't I?"

Spot smiled but had a worrying thought.

"Hey, are you just pretending? Because I'm not down with that. Hiding your emotions doesn't help."

Racetrack scowled.

"Great job killing the mood."

"I want an answer."

"I'm really tired. Are you letting me sleep here?"

"What do you expect me to do, leave you by yourself? I'd probably find you dead in the morning."

Race winced.

"Yeah. Probably."

That made Spot narrow his eyes.

"Alright, you're definitely not getting away with that. What's up?"

"I don't know. I'm tired. I'm in pain. Under all my drugged stupor and jokes I'm probably really depressed, because I was before, that's why I went to that rave in the first place. I'm sort of afraid that once I'm sober I'm going to be really hopeless again. I'm so tired of that feeling. I hate myself more and more every day. If I wasn't with you, it's safe to say that I very likely would have been dead by morning. I know all of my coping mechanisms are unhealthy and dangerous. But it just feels so much healthier to be happy and normal, then to go for days without sleeping because I'm afraid of my dreams, or to constantly wonder if my friends would even notice if I was gone. That's the danger of addictions. They feel so good that you never want to quit, even if you know how."

Spot didn't know what to say, so he crawled onto the bed next to his boyfriend and simply held him- ignoring the vomit and sweat and blood. If all he could do was hold Racetrack and try to keep his head above water until he was strong enough to swim, then he would hold him as tightly as he could, and never let go.

What else could he do?


End file.
